Making Waves
by Kitty'sGotANewName
Summary: After the Opera, Shilo is supposed to change the world, but first she needs to change herself. Maybe she needs a jumpstart to do that. Need Beta
1. Rivers and Tears, the Dance and Fears

I don't own these characters or themes.

Making Waves

Rivers and Tears, the Dance and Fears

Graverobber's painted lips quirked as he watched Shilo Wallace sway to a faint melody through her second-floor bedroom window. It was one of Blind Mag's songs. This had become a habit of his; almost a ritual. Sad, really, how a loner and a cynic like him had so easily become obsessed by this child, this waif-like creature. Seeing her for the first time in the graveyard behind her mother's tomb, daring to venture outside after a silly little bug, he should have known she'd be trouble. Then, again, in the tent at the festival, so desperate to escape. And after, in the alley with the Zydrate addicts and Amber Sweet, so meek in the face of sin and depravity, yet still curious. Yes, trouble. But then, did he ever listen to his own instincts? Not really.

Clenching his fists, he wrenched himself around, trenchcoat flaring, and raced away from temptation. He ran from a child.

--

Shilo danced around her room, the music her only thought. No, not thought; instinct. It flowed through her, a river rushing off with her fears, taking her sorrow with it. For a few stolen moments, she was free, a leaf carried on the tide; swirling in the current, taken wherever the river willed. Shilo was at peace. Calm and still within the movement of the dance.

Then the song ended and she was just Shilo again. Orphan, child of deception, pain-filled and hollow at the same time. She crumpled to the floor, gasping, holding her chest together because it was going to crack open. Surely noone could hold all this anger, fear, and pain inside without exploding. It was too much. Tears fell unheeded to the carpet, washing through forgotten eyeliner and mascara she'd been too overwrought to remember to clean off.

Her wig was lost in the pile of dirty laundry on the floor in the corner of her room. She'd thrown it there in her first tantrum after... after. There had been many others since. Her room was a disaster of ripped fabric, shattered glass entymology cases, and broken dolls. The plastic curtains had been ripped from her bed, and the heart monitor lay dark on it's side, screen caved in, by the door. Food wrappers and cups lay discarded everywhere.

It had only been a week since the OPERA. That's how she thought of it, in capital letters. The night that changed her life, brought it crashing down around her ears and burning through her emotions until she was a soot-ridden carcass, the mere husk of a rebellious 17–year-old girl. She hadn't even been allowed to bury her father or Blind Mag. They were Gene-Co property and, try as she might, Gene-Co lawyers would not release their bodies.

Shilo didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to live alone. There was hardly any food left in the kitchen and her last clean clothes were the ones she was wearing. She had been ghosting around the house, avoiding her father's room and study, sometimes standing in one spot for hours, reliving this moment or that. '_Chase the Morning'_ running through her head until her knees collapsed on the hard tiles of the foyer, crying once more over the godmother she had known only through her songs and magazine articles.

_What does one do when the world changes so much so fast?_ She wondered, curling up on the floor of her room. _Where do I go from here?_ She remembered that her father had told her that it was up to her to change the world, but how did one accomplish that? And a seventeen year old at that! She wished someone would just come tell her what she was supposed to do. Wasn't that what adults were supposed to do? Order everyone around and make it all run right? Well everyone, her father, Mag, Largo, had just fucked it all up royally, hadn't they?

The wash of emotion finally dragging her under the veil of sleep, her last thought as she pulled the comforter off her bed and cuddled it around her thin body, was _What am i going to do now?_ Then she knew no more.


	2. Awakening

Making Waves

Awakening

Shilo woke bleary-eyed and stiff. Wondering where she was at first, then remembering the night before, she almost started crying again. _No, _she thought, _no more tears. I can't **live** like this_. Lifting her aching head, she surveyed her room and located the clock. It had been almost a full 24 hours since she had danced to Blind Mag's haunting voice.

"Get up, Shilo!" Her voice was hoarse and cracked. It shocked her as she realized that she hadn't actually spoken aloud since the OPERA. There hadn't seemed to be any point. Getting up awkwardly, stiff muscles refusing to follow her commands, she stumbled across the hall and into the bathroom to take care of her toilette.

She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself for the first time in a week. _Is that really me?_ Gaping at the image before her, she studied the gaunt, pale creature she was faced with. Her eyes, ringed with the sodden remnants of her disregarded makeup, were sunken, red-rimmed, and empty. Her cheeks were hollow, lips slack and chapped. And maybe this hadn't been a clean dress, after all… the lace at her sleeves was stained with dark smudges and brown ones that she only identified when she realized that she had never actually washed the blood off her skin. It must have re-wetted when she cried.

She looked up and was amazed to find that she had stubble forming on top of he head. Her hair was growing! Without the drugs to stop it, her body must be fixing itself. She ran her hand wonderingly over her scalp. She couldn't remember ever having had hair before. She wondered how fast it would grow.

Speaking of the drugs, she wondered when the last time she had taken her medications had been… maybe she should… but, no, she couldn't. But what if… No! Shilo wouldn't give in to the addiction her father had forced upon her!

Shilo looked up to find herself back in her room, standing in front of the medicine cabinet. With a cry of horror, she wrenched herself away from the hated thing and over to the window. Throwing the panes apart, she leaned over the wrougt iron railing and screamed her fury and frustration to the night.

" Couldn't have done better myself…" a weak, yet familiarly mocking voice drifted up from below.

Shilo looked down, startled, her chest heaving beneath layers of lace. Below her, leaning with deceptive grace against a lightpole, was the tall, fit form of the graverobber. Staring at him she remembered their first meeting, when he had almost gotten her arrested for graverobbing. He had seemed like such a lunatic then, screaming into the night much as she just had. Then their second encounter, when he had gotten her away from the Largos, showed her the underworld of Zydrate addiction, told her of Blind Mag's plight, and then escorted her home on the back of a garbage truck, bowing with a flourish as the vehicle bore him away. At that time he was a debonair man of the world. Her own personal knight-in-shining-armor.

Now, looking down at him, Shilo could see neither of these facets of his personality. She saw a tired man, a persevering cynic, using his crooked smile to cover his true self. He was also standing oddly, as if he was hurt… in fact, he was! As he shifted his weight, his trenchcoat came open and the wet sheen of blood decorated his side.

"What happened to you?" Shilo queried, leaning over the balcony railing. Then, changing her mind, she waved a hand to erase her former question. "Never mind. Can you make it to the tomb where we first met?" If he was in trouble, she had to help him if she could. After all, he had gotten her out of a scrape or two; she should return the favor.

Nodding, Graverobber pushed himself off the lightpole with some difficulty and began to limp his way around the house. Shilo raced down the stairs for the secret passage to her mother's tomb.

**Sorry these chapters are so short... I kinda write as it comes to me. Some short, some long... whatever is needed. I would appreciate r/r as I am trying to improve my writing and maintain continuity. Thanks, KittysGotANewName**


	3. Pain

I don't own these characters, only my own twisted imaginings.

**Pain**

Limping his way towards the graveyard behind the house, Graverobber inwardly cringed. He hadn't meant for Shilo to see him like this. The beating he'd taken from Amber's dogs last night had been rather deserved, he'd thought. Lounging in a dumpster, daydreaming about a certain nubile young beauty, he had been caught completely unawares. Served him right, having no Z to sell them for 'her royal higness'. He just hadn't been able to bring himself to go out to the cemeteries this week. However, now what was he going to tell Shilo about his injuries?

He almost lost the train of thought as he careened against the side of the tall brick building and a smoky darkness threatened the edges of his vision as an intense burning pain from his broken ribs shot through his body. Maybe he was in worse shape than he'd thought. The tomb came into his dimming sight and he staggered towards it, wondering why it seemed to get farther and farther away. _Shit_, he thought, _I'm not going to make it_.

Opening the outer door of the tomb, Shilo chocked it with a handy piece of gravestone, then looked around. Where was he? It shouldn't have taken him longer than her to make it here. Then she saw the crumpled figure halfway between the tomb and the corner of the house. With a cry of dismay, she raced towards the injured man. She reached him just in time to see his eyes flutter briefly open, then closed again. Not even sparing a thought to the fact that she was outside, she knelt down at his side and felt the sides of his face. Even through the thick layers of makeup, she could feel the heat of his fever burning against her hand.

Shilo shook the graverobber's shoulder, urging him to wake up, as she couldn't get him inside alone. After a moment, his eyes scrunched and he mumbled something unintelligible. She slid a hand around his middle and heaved as he struggled to rise. They made their way slowly towards the door, he, eyes closed, panting and groaning, leaning most of his weight on the tiny girl next to him, and she, muscles straining, staggering, trying to hold up his weight.

How they managed to make it to the parlor, Shilo didn't know, but, upon reaching the room, she let her charge down on the dust-sheeted fainting couch shoved against one wall. Collapsing at the garverobber's booted feet, she paused, panting, as she surveyed the man's tall, athletic frame. He looked to her like a fallen giant, almost deceptive in his repose.

Getting to her feet, Shilo went upstairs to fetch her father's first aid bag from his large, wood-paneled study. It was sitting in the middle of his desk, alone. Shilo stared at it for just a minute, wondering if the contents were innocent first aid equipment or something more sinister and disturbing, before a moan from downstairs galvanized her into action. Grabbing the bag, she raced back downstairs. She went to the graverobber's side and stopped, unsure of how to proceed. She certainly couldn't get a decent look at his wounds with all those layers of clothing on…

Shrugging, she undid the row of buckles down his legs and slid the boots from his feet. Oh, yech! What a horrible stench greeted her there! She supposed she shouldn't really be surprised, after all, he _was_ a street person, so he probably didn't get to bathe much. Speaking of which, she probably wasn't smelling so rosy, herself! Wrinkling her nose, she crossed the room and deposited the offending footware outside the large double doors of the parlor.

Next was the trenchcoat. This proved more difficult, as six foot something of pure, wide-shouldered, broad-chested muscle didn't maneuver easily unconscious when being manhandled by a petite seventeen-year-old girl. But with much pushing, tugging, and awkward bracing against the couch, floor and graverobber, himself, she finally prised the fur-lapeled coat from his torso. Now she could see the broad expanse of chest beneath his bloody and stained shirt. It looked as if the shirt was sticking to the poor man's wounds. Below that, buckled leather pants encased long, graceful legs ending in the large, stinky feet that she'd rather not have to touch again.

_Which next?_ Shilo thought. She decided on the shirt, as the worst of his injuries seemed to be on the graverobber's upper body. Squinting at it, she gave it up as a lost cause and dove into her father's bag for scissors. Pulling a blunt-tipped pair out, she set about cutting the disgusting-looking linen top from his body. Underneath, she found his chest and sides a patchwork of multi-colored bruises, shallow lacerations, and deep cuts. One on his left side seemed deeper than the rest and was still seeping blood.

Shilo got up and ran to the kitchen for a bowl of water and a rag to wash graverobber's wounds with. As she was waiting for the water from the tap to warm up, she had a moment to think. _What am I doing? I just let a strange man (a very strange man) into my father's house!_ Feeling dizzy, Shilo rested her head against the countertop. _I wish Dad was here. He could fix this..._ Shilo closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of self pity. Two tears slid down her cheeks. _No! No more crying, Shi. Dad wouldn't want you to cry!_

She drew a deep breath, and, brushing the salty moisture from her face, filled the bowl and headed back to the parlor.

Shilo set the bowl down on a table and dragged a spindly chair over next to the man on the sofa. She piched the bowl back up and proceeded to wash the worst of the blood and dirt off of graverobber's torso. Afterwards, he looked both better and worse. While his cuts were now more clearly defined and less angry looking, although some of them would need stitches, she could see that his bruises were worse than she had previously thought and the shape of his ribs suggested that some of them may be broken.

That last, she wasn't sure how to deal with, but the rest she could. Pulling a gauze pad and a bottle of betadine out of the bag at her side, Shilo dabbed at the cuts on Graverobber's chest and sides. Then, she got the suture needle and thread and began stitching up the deeper lacerations, covering them with gauze and tape as she finished each one. Shilo had let herself sink into an intense level of concentration, so that she didn't even notice that she was working on a human. She just went from one injury to another, taking care of each as she progressed, until the front and sides of Graverobber's body were a patchwork of white bandages.

The next hurdle then presented itself: how to take care of his back?

**a/n: Sorry these chapters are so short... I kinda write as it comes to me. Some short, some long... whatever is needed. I would appreciate r/r as I am trying to improve my writing and maintain continuity. Also, I'm sorry if things about the chapters change after thry're posted. Sometimes new ways of saying things come to me and I just have to put them in. This won't change my story line. Thanks, KittysGotANewName**


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